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If you get hung up on everybody else's hang-ups, then the whole world's going to be nothing more than one huge gallows.

Richard Brautigan

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Richard Brautigan
Age: 49 †
Born: 1935
Born: January 30
Died: 1984
Died: October 25
Novelist
Poet
Writer
Tacoma
Washington
Richard Gary Brautigan
Everybody
Else
Nothing
Gallows
Whole
Neurosis
Going
Hung
World
Hang
Huge
Technology

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I don't know these people and they aren't my flowers.
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I'll think about things for thirty or forty years before I'll write it.
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There are spiders living comfortably in my house while the wind howls outside. They aren't bothering anybody. If I were a fly, I'd have second thoughts, but I'm not, so I don't.
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It's pretty hard to have faith when everybody is trying to lock you up.
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...what makes you older is when your bones, muscles and blood wear out, when the heart sinks into oblivion and all the houses you ever lived in are gone and people are not really certain that your civilization ever existed.
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I had a good-talking candle last night in my bedroom. I was very tired but I wanted somebody to be with me, so I lit a candle and listened to its comfortable voice of light until I was asleep.
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We walked back to iDEATH, holding hands. Hands are very nice things, especially after they have travelled back from making love.
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Her sunny side was always up.
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Elizabeth's voice had a door in it. When you opened that door you found another door, and that door opened yet another door. All the doors were nice and led out of her.
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Reduce intellectual and emotional noise until you arrive at the silence of yourself and listen to it.
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For fear you will be alone you do so many things that aren't you at all.
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One day Time will die And love will bury it
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If you will die for me, I will die for you and our graves will be like two lovers washing their clothes together in a laundromat If you will bring the soap I will bring the bleach.
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A friend came over to the house a few days ago and read one of my poems. He came back today and asked to read the same poem over again. After he finished reading it, he said, It makes me want to write poetry.
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The bees in my stomach are dead and getting used to it.
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I daydream about a high school where everybody plays the harmonica: the students, the teachers, the principal, the janitor and the cook in the cafeteria.
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The bookstore was a parking lot for used graveyards. Thousands of graveyards were parked in rows like cars. Most of the books were out of print, and no one wanted to read them any more and the people who had read the books had died or forgotten about them, but through the organic process of music the books had become virgins again.
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The Pill Versus the Springhill Mine Disaster When you take your pill it's like a mine disaster. I think of all the people lost inside you.
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I saw thousands of pumpkins last night come floating in on the tide, bumping up against the rocks and rolling up on the beaches it must be Halloween in the sea
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I feel as if I am an ad for the sale of a haunted house: 18 rooms $37,000 I’m yours ghosts and all.
Richard Brautigan